


Love in an Elevator

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 02:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2091639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Love in an Elevator, by Aerosmith. Near PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in an Elevator

To be honest, when the Doctor had set fire to the funeral pyre he hadn’t expected the Master to come back. And although he had been upset by that fact, he certainly hadn’t expected the Master to turn up, on the doorstep of the TARDIS, blackmail the Doctor out of the door with the threat of showing certainly Prydonian Academy graduation photographs to both Martha and Jack (photographs that had been taken by a hired photographer known across Gallifrey for his racy art who hadn’t seemed fazed by their young age), and drag him to a bar. And he really, really hadn’t expected that bar to be a gay bar, on a distant planet that he had only visited once and then by mistake, with a policy against shirts. When the Master had heard that line from the bouncer he had been the one that was surprised but then he hadn’t seemed disappointed either and with a screwdriver scrumptiously against the Doctor’s pelvis he had helped him out of his blue shirt and suit, insisting that he keep the tie. The bouncer had winked and let them through. The Doctor, from that point on, had spent an hour rolling his eyes, an hour paying for every drink the Master ordered, and an hour drinking far too many banana daiquiris than he had originally intended to while the Master attempted to make him jealous, as punishment for letting him get shot, by making eyes at every brunette in the bar. And a couple of blonds too.

When the Doctor had eventually plucked up the courage to complain, the Master had complained right back, saying that being shot in the stomach rather hurt, and he hadn’t planned on being resurrected by a group of religious zealots only for his wife to get in the way again and make his hair turn blond. The Doctor, rather guiltily, had ordered a sixth daiquiri, and two straws, and had told the Master that in fact, he quite liked the new hair. He liked blonds, after all, as his track record showed. That had been one reason why he had never looked at Martha the way he had once looked at Rose; but no matter how much he’d looked at Rose, he always knew he’d seen in her the coy, playful confidence of Koschei, long ago, back on Gallifrey. In a way, he was turned on by the fact that topless gay bars were somewhat spontaneous and that possibly meant that the Master was feeling playful rather than murderous. And there were a lot of witnesses who wouldn’t be pleased if the Doctor’s blood made its way onto the shag carpeted floor of the loud and, well, sparkly bar. The compliments had fuelled the Master on to insisting that the Doctor try this drink he was having, a Scotch it might have been, the Doctor had decided yes, he’d share his daiquiri, and another one, and then that couple’s drink they’d seen being served at the other end of the bar, and the next thing he knew they had their arms around each other’s waists and were standing on the bar.

Singing a duet.

The Doctor hiccupped, nuzzling the Master’s neck between his lines and the Master’s, barely supported on the table. The barman had initially rolled his eyes, but decided that two drunken and attractive men on the counter of the bar who could actually sing would really bring in the crowds on a planet like this and meant that he could turn the band away when they arrived and save himself a few hundred transgalactic credits to boot. Unless the two wanted to be paid to perform, or fell and sued, in which case he would be in trouble. But the Doctor, who was using the Master to balance as the Master spread his legs wide for stability and belted out a couple lines of Aerosmith’s Love in an Elevator, putting his hands on the Doctor’s waist to emphasise a point. The barman raised an eyebrow. This was their third song – would he be getting a free strip show to boot? Several of his patrons seemed to be as excited by the prospect as the odd alien lovers on the bar top were.

“Jackey’s in the elevator, lingerie on the second floor.” The Master fiddled with the Doctor’s trousers, singing loudly as he pulled at the elastic of the green and blue rocketship underwear that the Doctor was wearing to show it to the patrons of the bar. Cheered on by the loud wolf whistling echoing around the room as the barman served more shots and considered breaking dress code to take off his own shirt in the heat, the Doctor blushed furiously, stroking his fingers over the Master’s nipples and more warily singing his line, stammering a little by the proximity with the Master’s fingers and his own throbbing erection.

“She said ‘can I see you later and love you just a little more?’” His voice went a little higher-pitched as the Master’s hand disappeared into his trousers, and as the Master began to sing ‘I kinda hope we get stuck’ the Doctor suddenly pulled him into a passionate kiss, whimpering, kissing him so that they toppled from the top of the bar to behind the bar, knocking down the last of the last daiquiri on their way down. With the Master on top of the Doctor’s hips, straddling him clumsily and biting at his neck delightedly, and the barman deciding again just to let them be as he stepped over to offer a free drink to the other customer who had gotten soaked by the fallen daiquiri, the Doctor licked shards of ice from the Master’s chest and took one nipple into his mouth, moaning with pleasure. “Do… Do you want to go get stuck in my TARDIS, or will here do just f-fine?” The Master groaned.


End file.
